


The Prince and Me

by mokuyoubi



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:41:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/pseuds/mokuyoubi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern Day Royalty in which there is (supposedly) some prince coming to Spencer's university, only no one ever seems to meet him, and Spencer's too busy focusing on that weird kid in his music history class, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Prince and Me

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this is probably the silliest thing I've ever written, IDEK. It started out as comment fic I was posting elsewhere. I fail at comment fic. Anyway, I apologise ahead of time for the fact that none of this makes any sense.

Ryan made a big deal out of it when it first happened. Some prince coming to their school. Spencer wasn't that impressed. Like, maybe if he was _the_ prince, the heir apparent, or something. But this guy's just the fifth kid of the third son of the queen—something like fifteenth in line to the throne. No one in his actual country cares that he's a prince, because the title's basically like a courtesy, and everyone at school was only excited because they're Americans, and it's a novelty. Prince Edward's coming to campus

Spencer, personally, spent more time being curious why the guy would come _here_ out of all his options. He could understand wanting to get away from the craziness that is the British Royal Family and all the duties that come with that. Prince Edward's mother, the Countess of York, is American. Spencer remembers his mother's magazines growing up, occasionally featuring the family on one of their frequent vacations to the States. 

So coming to America for college wasn't too strange. But the University of California? It seemed so...uncouth. Shouldn't a prince be going some place like Harvard, or Brown, or Princeton? Really, that's all the thought he gave the matter.

After a few months the clamor died down. No one every actually seemed to have met Prince Edward—for a while Ryan was suspicious of every dude with a British accent, but eventually he dismissed the whole thing as a rumour.

*

There's this weird kid in Spencer's History of Music class, Brendon. He's good-looking, but dresses like someone else did it for him the rest of his life and he's just trying it out for himself for the first time—these big red framed glasses, skinny ties and vests with t-shirts, lavender hoodies with glittery rainbow jeans, paisley cowboy shirts with cravats—Ryan would probably fall in love at first sight.

Brendon has way more energy then one person ever should, always bouncing his foot and tapping his pen against his notebook, and talking a million miles an hour. And he talks a lot. He's sort of stupid smart, always has his hand in the air with the right answer to the prof's questions.

The thing is, Spencer loves making music and learning about music theory, but this history shit is sort of impossible to keep straight, especially when Professor Glenn tells them on the first test he'll be playing selections from the pieces they've been studying and they have to write the composer and the date and all this other information about it, and Spencer has a minor panic attack, because there's no way he can keep all these different pieces straight.

Everyone knows Brendon's acing the class, so it's a no-brainer to ask for his help. Spencer waits around after class on Thursday, when everyone else is filing out and Brendon's still lingering up near Professor Glenn's class discussing Brahms influence on Elgar. 

Spencer calls Brendon's name and falls into step alongside him when he starts down the hall. Brendon smiles side-long at him in a curious sort of way. “Hey,” Spencer says, “I'm Spencer.”

“I know,” Brendon says. “What's up?”

“I'm sort of freaking out about this test,” Spencer says, shoulders slumping. “I, uh. I couldn't help but notice that you seem to know your shit--” Brendon snorts in laughter and Spencer can't explain it, but it makes him feel self-conscious. He rubs the back of his neck and looks away. “I know you probably don't need to study, but if you're going to, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind some company.”

Brendon's got this pensive expression on his face, when Spencer chances a look. “I have a prior engagement this evening,” Brendon says, in that strangely formal tone he has sometimes, “but if you wanted, I have tomorrow afternoon free?”

“Yeah?” Spencer says. “I have German until one.”

“We could meet at the student union at one-thirty,” Brendon suggests. He glances down the front steps, squinting against the late afternoon sun. “I've gotta run.”

There's a shiny black car down at the street, motor running, and when Brendon gets close, the driver gets out, dressed in a suit, and opens the back door. Brendon tosses Spencer a wave before disappearing inside. It's strange, but everything about Brendon is strange.

*

Brendon's waiting when Spencer gets to the student union, having claimed a table near the window on the second floor. It's quieter than the common areas on the ground and first floors, with just a little traffic of people heading to offices. He's got a laptop with him and his notes with their neat handwriting and helpful highlights.

“I made a copy for you,” Brendon says, passing Spencer a binder. “I went through Professor Glenn's study guide and starred all the things that are probably going to be on the test.”

Spencer flips through the notes in amazement. He thought he did a pretty decent job of keeping up in class, but Brendon could turn these into a goddamn textbook. “I was mostly worried about the listening part.”  
“Oh,” Brendon says, opening up his computer. He flashes Spencer a smile that Spencer automatically has to return. “I downloaded the pieces we listened to in class. I thought we could listen to the selections that are most likely to show up on the test.”

“You're kind of awesome,” Spencer says fervently, and Brendon blushes and bites his bottom lip. And Spencer's always noticed that Brendon is hot, but now he's taking time to appreciate all the different parts of the whole, up close.

They share Brendon's earbuds to listen to the selections a few times while looking over the notes, then Brendon starts quizzing Spencer on them. It takes forever, but by the time their stomachs start growling, Spencer feels mostly confident about the listening part of the test.

“Let me take you out to pay you back,” Spencer says, while Brendon's packing up his things.

Brendon looks hesitant and Spencer thinks about how every time he's seen Brendon on campus, he's been alone, and Spencer wonders about that car the other day. Finally Brendon nods and says, “I can—I'll have to make a call--”

“If you've already got plans, it's no big deal,” Spencer says. He really doesn't want Brendon to have other plans.

“No,” Brendon says quickly. “No. Dinner sounds lovely.”

_Sounds lovely_. It's probably ridiculous, that Spencer finds Brendon's weirdness charming.

*

They go to dinner at a little Chinese place near campus. It's a hole in the wall, but it has the best pad thai Spencer's ever had, and it's cheap. Brendon looks bemused by it, and stands at the counter for a full ten minutes, staring at the menu, before finally just ordering the same thing as Spencer.

“Never had Chinese before?” Spencer teases.

“Of course I have,” Brendon says, but he's blushing again, and Spencer wants to see what else he can do to get that reaction. “Just never in place with such...character.”

“Sorry,” Spencer says, because Brendon has a _driver_ and Spencer is lucky that his parents still give him an allowance on top of tuition.

“Oh,” Brendon says. He reaches out and lays his hand over Spencer's wrist for just a second. “No, I didn't mean—this place is awesome. When I moved to California, I said I was going to come to places like this, experience new things. And then I...didn't.”

“Where'd you live before?” Spencer asks. It drives him crazy that he can't place Brendon's accent.

Brendon doesn't answer for a minute, taking time to chew his food, and it really takes longer than it should. Spencer wonders if he should just change the subject, but Brendon swallows and clears his throat. “My family is from Berkshire,” Brendon says, and then clarifies, “England.”

“Wow, California must be a huge difference. How long is the exchange program?”

Brendon shrugs and puts down his chopsticks. “I don't know. My family. It's sort of hard to explain. They thought maybe I would benefit from some time away from home.”

“About as far as you can get away,” Spencer says, sort of unthinking, and wants to kick himself a second later.

“Yeah,” Brendon says, and he looks _miserable_. Spencer feels like the world's biggest dick. Before he can apologise, Brendon puts on a sunny smile. “But I mostly really like it here. The weather is _gorgeous_ \--I wanted to try my hand at surfing sometime.”

“Hey, I surf,” Spencer says, and when Brendon smiles at him, it looks less forced. “Look, you wanna—I know it's Friday and you probably have other plans, but I live a couple blocks from here, if you wanted to come over. I've got some beer in the fridge, we could eat there.”

It sounds weird, Spencer knows it does. If he was Brendon, he's not sure he'd agree to it. But Brendon bites his bottom lip again-- _fuck,_ that's gonna get Spencer in trouble—and nods his head in agreement. 

Brendon makes another call while Spencer's getting Styrofoam boxes for their food and meets Spencer at the door with his widest smile yet. “I'm all yours,” he says, and Spencer swallows hard.

*

Brendon spends the first several minutes upon entering Spencer and Ryan's apartment studying every piece of furniture and knick-knack with a strange intensity. “Is this your brother?” Brendon asks, gesturing to the photos of Spencer and Ryan scattered across the bookshelf.

Spencer laughs. “Uh, no.”

“Oh,” Brendon says. He looks uncomfortable and grasps his hands behind his back. “Your boyfriend?”

Spencer laughs again, unable to help himself, even at the expression on Brendon's face. “You were closer the first time,” he says. “Ryan and I have been best friends forever. We rent this place together.” 

“That sounds nice,” Brendon says, sort of wistfully.

Spencer gets them both beers and they finish their dinner of the sofa, watching _Scrubs_ reruns. Brendon's delighted by the show and Spencer's sort of stupidly proud of showing it to him. He spends more time watching Brendon's reaction than the television, but Brendon's face is so expressive, and after he's finished his second beer, his laughter is more natural, and honest, and Spencer's had a couple beers, too. He can't _help_ it.

They're somewhere around the third episode when Spencer's arm, stretched along the back of the couch, gets a mind of it's own, fingers brushing the tips Brendon's hair. Brendon glances at him out of the corner of his eye for just a second, before looking back at the television.

Spencer's pretty good at reading signals, and that is most definitely not a _no_. He lets his fingers trail lower, along the bare skin above the neckline of Brendon's ridiculous pink and purple plaid button-down. Brendon shivers and sets his beer on the coffee table, and his next laugh sounds forced and breathless.

“Can I kiss you?” Spencer asks, leaning in just a little, knee braced to push away or push closer depending on the answer.

Brendon lets out a shaky breath, looking straight ahead, and nods. Spencer palms Brendon's cheek, turning his face, and closes the space between them, letting his lips just brush Brendon's twice. When he draws back, Brendon's eyes are closed and his brow furrowed, like he's disappointed. 

Spencer licks his lips and leans in again, presses their mouths together harder, tilts his head so their fitted just right. Brendon makes a soft sound. His hands come up, one curling in the front of Spencer's shirt, the other holding him by the arm. 

It isn't until Spencer licks along the seam of Brendon's lips and Brendon responds, hesitant and clumsy, that Spencer realises this is Brendon's first kiss. He pulls away and Brendon blinks at him, full-mouthed and vaguely dazed.

“Did I do something wrong?” Brendon asks. His fingers clench gently against Spencer's arm and relax.

“Is this okay?” Spencer says. “I don't wanna--”

“No!” Brendon says. “It's okay. I want.” He blushes and ducks his head. “The other day, when you came up to me after class, I was trying so hard to play it cool. I've been trying to work up the courage to talk to you since the first day of class.”

“Me?” Spencer says, because Brendon's sort of gorgeous and Spencer's just....Spencer.

Brendon smiles and reaches out, brushing some hair out of Spencer's eyes. “Can we—I can do better, if you give me a chance.”

Spencer doesn't know how to respond to that, other than by kissing Brendon again. Brendon does get better. Improves by leaps and bounds, and in a relatively short time, each kiss hotter and slicker than the last, until Spencer isn't feeling like the confident teacher anymore, but more like a horny teenager making out for the first time.

Brendon only lets him pull away reluctantly, leaning back against the sofa looking like a fucking wet dream—mouth swollen, hair mused, cheeks flushed, his erection tenting the front of his jeans. “What'd I do?” he asks, sort of absently. He's watching Spencer like he's about to pounce.

“Nothing, but,” Spencer has to pause and take a centering breath. “I just. I got the impression that was your first kiss.”

“Yeah,” Brendon says. He sounds stubborn. “There weren't a lot of people my age around, growing up. So?”

“Just—Brendon, I really like you, but we just started hanging out, and if we keep going right now...” Spencer trails off.

“Oh,” Brendon says. The stubbornness melts instantly, replaced with embarrassment.

“Hey,” Spencer says. He touches Brendon's cheek because he can't help himself. “I really do like you, Brendon.” 

It doesn't make that sort of ashamed expression on Brendon's face fade, and Spencer leans in to kiss him, soft and slow. He tries to keep the urgency from before out of it, but he's pretty sure he fails miserably, because they're both panting when they part.

“Let me take you out tomorrow,” Spencer says. “On a date. Movies, dinner, whatever you want.”

Brendon looks hesitant. “The University Chamber Chorus is performing tomorrow. It's a free show.”

Spencer rolls his eyes. “That's hardly me taking you out,” he says, but he lays his hand over Brendon's to show he's teasing. “But it sounds like fun.”

Brendon glances away from Spencer, and back again, and finally leans in, kissing him quickly. “And then we can...we can keep doing this, right?”

“Yeah,” Spencer says breathlessly. He's mostly positive that he couldn't stop if he tried.

*

Dating Brendon is an entirely new experience for Spencer. He's known he's into guys as well as girls for a long time, but he's never dated another guy. So he can't say if it's because Brendon's a dude, or if it's just because he's Brendon, but whichever way, it's so much easier and more fun. 

It turns out Brendon's a Music major, and even though he's in undergrad he's taking some composition and ethnomusicology classes, too. He's fairly busy with his regular classes as well as his jazz, symphony, and chorus rehearsals, but Spencer doesn't mind doing his homework hanging out in the back of rehearsal, listening. It's sort of cool, actually.

They both love music, and while Spencer's never much considered himself a fan of classical stuff, he's open-minded. Brendon drags him to all the free concerts on campus, and in turn, Spencer drags Brendon to all Ryan's friend's concert's off-campus—indie, rock, pop, whatever. Brendon loves all of them, no matter how small or strange, and his enthusiasm wins Ryan over pretty quickly.

Before the cold weather has a chance to settle in for good, Spencer takes Brendon to the beach for a few beginner surfing lessons. Brendon, Spencer is starting to learn, is just good at _everything_ and he picks up surfing with ease. Autumn is mostly on them, but Brendon talks about the Spring like it's just a given that they'll still be dating then, and it makes Spencer's stomach flip to hear.

Sometimes Spencer brings up going into San Francisco. Brendon hasn't really been, and he talks about seeing the sites, but whenever Spencer actually suggests doing it, Brendon gets weird and they always end up staying in, instead. Brendon can be weird about crowds, always looking around himself sort of warily, and Spencer figures he's maybe a little agoraphobic, and doesn't push it. 

Staying in with Brendon is no hardship, anyway. Brendon has never invited Spencer to his place, but he spends most of his free time at Spencer and Ryan's. They like to cuddle up on the couch with movies and take-out, and they usually end up missing most of whatever is on the television, too busy making out.

And it's a little weird, because Brendon obviously wants to do more, but the last time Spencer had sex with a virgin, he was a virgin, too, and it feels so fast. He's always the one pulling away, making excuses, trying to get himself under control, which isn't precisely easy when Brendon's all over him, saying, “No, really, Spencer, I'm _ready_.” 

The thing is, Spencer doesn't disbelieve him, but Spencer's not sure _he's_ ready. The thing is, Spencer's sort of crazy about Brendon already, and doesn't want to fuck it up.

*

It's late and they're both tipsy. Ryan kept sneaking them drinks at the bar, and no one was bothering to police who he was giving them to. Brendon likes to give haughty speeches when he's drunk, about how in _his_ country he's been legal for two years, and no one cares anyway—his family's served him alcohol since he was thirteen. 

Spencer finds it adorable, but Ryan mostly rolls his eyes. (Ryan isn't still entirely convinced that Brendon's actually British. Claims the accent is suspect. He has this theory that Brendon ran away from his crazy religious family in Utah, or something.)

They come stumbling out of the bar and Brendon's driver is there waiting. He's always hanging around, whether he actually drives Brendon anywhere or not. Mostly Spencer tries to ignore it, but sometimes it's a little creepy. When he's asked, Brendon's just hand-waved about his over-protective family keeping an eye on him. Spencer thinks it's a little strange that his family would send him thousands of miles away and still need to keep an eye on him.

“It's only a few blocks, we can walk. I'm spending the night at Spence's,” Brendon tells the guy, which? Okay, Spencer doesn't have a problem with, exactly. It's just, they haven't really talked about it, and also, Spencer isn't entirely comfortable with this dude knowing his business. But the guy just nods and gets back in the car.

Brendon hooks his arm through Spencer's, dragging him along the sidewalk. Ryan's lingering inside with Z and Alex, and Spencer's fairly certain Ryan won't be coming home tonight. Normally he doesn't have an opinion one way or another about Ryan's habit of sleeping over, but right now, he's totally down with it.

“Gonna tell me no again?” Brendon asks, face pushed in Spencer's neck while Spencer unlocks the apartment door. 

Spencer pauses to turn his head, catching Brendon's mouth in a slow kiss. “No,” he says.

Brendon follows him inside and stands by the door, hands thrust in his hoodie pockets. He looks uncertain, like he hadn't been expecting Spencer to agree. “Spence,” he says. “I need to tell you—I haven't been entirely honest.”

Spencer tosses his jacket over the back of the couch and pulls Brendon close by the hips. Brendon's arms automatically come up around Spencer's shoulders. “Oh?” Spencer asks, his tone teasing. 

But Brendon looks uncomfortable, and he's holding himself stiff. “What is it?” Spencer asks, concerned.

“I don't want this to be some fling,” Brendon says, sudden and fierce. “I can't do that.”

Spencer shakes his head. “I didn't think that,” he says. He waits, can tell that Brendon has more to say, but Brendon is struggling with it, opening and closing his mouth twice before he stops. “You can tell me,” Spencer says.

“I know,” Brendon says. “I think I—I _know_ I love you, Spencer.”

Spencer can hardly breathe around his heart stuck in his throat, but he finds himself smiling in relief. “Is that it?” Brendon draws a breath to answer, but Spencer says, “I love you too, Brendon,” first. He leans in, tilting Brendon's head back with a hand in his hair, and kisses him.

Spencer honestly doesn't remember the trip to the bedroom. He sort of wishes he hadn't had that last drink at the bar, because what he does remember is hazy. Brendon's fingers trembling as they undid the buttons on Spencer's shirt, Brendon's mouth hot and slick on Spencer's throat. He remembers how perfect Brendon's skin looked in the light from the streetlamp, and how Brendon arched off the mattress whenever Spencer touched him just right. 

He remembers Brendon's gasp when Spencer finally wrapped his hand around Brendon's cock, how Brendon shuddered into to it, clinging to Spencer and kissing him like he never wanted it to end. Brendon came with this sort of desperate cry that Spencer can't forget when they're lying together after. Brendon pressed close, skin sweat-damp against Spencer's, and it should have been uncomfortable—it was uncomfortable—but Spencer didn't ever want to move. 

*

Brendon's weird in the morning. It's pretty much everything that Spencer was worried about. It's nothing Brendon _says_ , but it's there all the same. He's already awake when Spencer gets up, fishing around in the dark for his clothes. Spencer offers to make breakfast and Brendon grimaces and says he's already running late for class, that he has to get back to his place to pick up his homework. He pauses to press a quick kiss to Spencer's mouth before dashing out the door, saying he'll call later.

Spencer's left lying there, watching the space where Brendon was standing a moment before, wondering what the hell just happened. He knows Brendon wasn't lying about running late, but there was still something off about the whole thing.

He stumbles into the shower and just stands under the spray for several minutes. His stomach is squirming, and it has nothing to do with how much he had to drink the night before. He has no idea how he managed to fuck things up, but he's going to fix them. Brendon gets out of his last class around three. Spencer can figure something out by then.

Spencer doesn't have a class until after noon, but he doesn't feel like hanging around the apartment. He gets dressed and grabs his bookbag to head to the library. Brendon's car is waiting out front of the apartment building and Spencer stops short. Brendon rarely actually takes his car, and if he was late for class, he wouldn't just be hanging around. 

The driver door opens and the guy steps out, takes off his sunglasses, and gives Spencer an assessing look. “Mister Smith,” he greets.

Spencer nods at him and it's incredibly weird, so Spencer just starts walking down the street. He only gets a few steps before the driver catches up with him. “I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to come with me. It shouldn't take long.”

“I'm sorry, _what_?” Spencer asks, stopping short. “Is Brendon alright?”

“He's fine,” the man says, and looks a little pained. “Please, Mister Smith.”

“Look, what is this about?” Spencer says. He crosses his arms over his chest and gives the guy his best glare.

“It really isn't my place to discuss this with you,” the man says. “There's a member of the family waiting to speak with you.”

Spencer hesitates for a second, because this is beyond weird. In just about any other situation, he'd say fuck this, but he's been seeing this guy for months. This is Brendon's driver, and it would have to be a pretty stupid and elaborate serial killer who picked victims by driving around their boyfriends for months ahead of time, before they were even dating. So. Spencer gets in the car.

They end up at what Spencer assumes is Brendon's apartment, though the driver isn't any more forthcoming with information. He leads Spencer to the fourth floor of a luxury apartment building and lets him in the door of number 408.

There's a woman at the window with her back to him. She has long dark hair falling straight down her back and she's wearing a day dress like something out of some fashion magazine. She turns when the door shuts, giving Spencer a warm smile, and there's something familiar about it. It's not that it's reminiscent of Brendon's smile, because it is. That's not it. It's that he's seen her before somewhere, and it's niggling the back of Spencer's brain.

“Mister Smith,” she greets him, offering a hand for him to shake. “I'm Kara.”

It's the name that does it. Jackie and her obsession with princesses, like knowing enough about them meant she could grow up to be one. Princess Kara was one of Jackie's favourites because she was pretty and had a neat name for British royalty. The picture of her Jackie had is out-dated, but it's the same person that's standing before him.

“Oh my god,” Spencer says, because there's really nothing else to say in this situation. Did he break a law? Can he be arrested for this? He took the Prince's _virginity_. Didn't they used to like, behead people for that sort of shit? He suddenly wishes he knew more about British history than what he's learned from listening to Ryan talk about books he's read.

“I'm not here to break the two of you up, or anything melodramatic like that,” Princess Kara says. Her tone is kindly enough. “My parents and grandmother were curious about the man who's been spending so much time with my brother.”

There are a lot of things for Spencer to process right now, and his brain just refuses, focussing on seriously stupid shit instead, like how beautiful Brendon looks in the framed photograph of himself and Spencer taken at a bar, sitting right next to a photograph of himself with his fucking _royal family_.

The Princess looks at the photographs and back at Spencer. “You didn't know?” she says.

“He said his name was Brendon,” Spencer says. He sits down heavily on the sofa and doesn't even care if it's rude, or not how he's supposed to behave. The Princess doesn't comment, but sits down beside him. 

“His full title is His Royal Highness Prince Edward Francis Alphonso Brendon Louis of York. I don't remember exactly how Brendon stuck, but it's what we've always called him.”

Spencer seriously has nothing he can say to that. He stares at his own hands, folded in his lap. There's this weird cold that's settled around him, making it hard to concentrate. He tries to think of any signs, if there was any way he should have _known_. But while Brendon came off as odd, it never occurred to Spencer that there was any reason beyond either rich, or foreign, or both.

“I have to talk to him,” he says. He stands up, decision made, and Princess Kara stands with him.

“Mister Smith--”

“Oh my god, please call me Spencer. I have no idea. I don't know what...” he trails off miserably.

“Alright,” Princess Kara says. “Spencer. If you can manage to look me in the face.” There's a teasing tone that makes Spencer think of Brendon, so he looks at her to find her giving him a gentle smile.

“There we are,” she says. “Now, Spencer, I'm certain my brother had his reasons for choosing to conceal his identity from you.”

“Yeah?” Spencer says. “And I'm going to go talk to him about them.”

“I'm sorry that my coming has created this situation,” Princess Kara says, “but I would like to talk to you about your relationship with Brendon.”

“Later,” Spencer says shortly, and remembers who he's talking to. “I'm sorry, but I need to see him.”

*

Spencer all but runs across campus to the music building. On the way, there's all these different scenarios playing in his head, of him storming in to the classroom, asking for _Prince fucking Edward_ and demanding some fucking answers, careless of who hears what. 

But then he actually gets there, standing outside the door to room 103, panting, and sees Brendon through the tiny window on the door. He's sitting at the front of the classroom, waving his hand animatedly as he answers the prof's question. Maybe the running cleared his head, but Spencer feels like he's finally thinking straight.

Spencer wishes he'd paid more attention to his mother's magazines and the clippings Jackie kept. If he thinks about it hard enough, he can remember seeing the family photos, Prince Edward always lingering around in the background, like someone forgot he was there. 

He remembers his mom talking about what a shame it was, the way the royal family was too proud and too stuck in their ways to admit when there was a problem or do anything about it. Spencer was too young at the time to understand, and now he wants desperately to know what she meant.

Several voices rise from inside the classroom and Spencer peeks in to see the students standing and gathering their things. He steps away from the door, wiping his palms on his pants, and swallows, trying to wet his throat.

Brendon comes out towards the end of the stream of students, books clasped to his chest, head down. Spencer pushes off the wall and steps in his path. Brendon's eyes widen a little when he sees Spencer, and he stops short, chewing on his lip.

“We need--” Spencer starts, and his voice sort of gives out on him. “Can we talk?” he tries again.

Brendon looks warily from side to side and nods. He leads the way to an empty classroom and Spencer closes the door behind them. 

“I'm sorry about this morning,” Brendon says. He's staring at the floor, clinging to his books like a fucking lifeline.

Spencer hates seeing him look so small, would reach out to touch him if he wasn't still a little furious and fucking hurt. Instead, he says, “I met your sister today.”

Brendon's head shoots up, eyes darting wildly across Spencer's face for a second. Then his shoulders slump and he says, “Oh,” in this dull voice.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Spencer asks. He meant to sound angry about it, but it comes out confused and a little lost. Brendon looks about the same, and something about it makes Spencer think. “That's what you were going to tell me last night.”

“Yeah,” Brendon agrees.

“Why _didn't_ you?” Spencer says.

“You said you loved me, first,” Brendon says.

Spencer frowns, hands on hips. “I don't understand.”

Brendon sighs and finally lets go of his death grip on his books, setting them aside on a table. “Before, I thought I could tell you because I didn't know how you felt about me. I could just put it out there, and then if you were angry and didn't ever want to talk to me again, then it could all just be this stupid fantasy I had, you know? 

“But then you said—and I didn't think I'd ever—well, with my family I never thought I'd actually have a chance. I mean. What I'm trying to say is that they're not exactly on board with the queer thing, and I until I came here—until I met you, really—I never thought I'd even chance to _try_.”

He's talking even faster than usual and he looks close to tears, and no matter how pissed off Spencer is, he doesn't want that. He doesn't even have to think about it, really, just closing the distance between them and wrapping Brendon up in his arms. Brendon's still and tense, hands trapped between them.

“I wish you'd told me,” Spencer says.

“Me too,” Brendon says. His fingers curl in Spencer's shirt. “I really did want to, but I never knew when the right time was, and the longer I went without saying it, the harder it was to figure out how, but I'm so sorry, Spencer.”

Spencer believes him, and what good will it do to stay angry about it? Maybe Spencer shouldn't still love him, but apparently it doesn't just turn off. He can see himself holding onto this for a long time, drawing it out until Brendon's made up for it somehow. But he'd rather just move past it and get to know the parts that Brendon's been keeping hidden. 

“I know,” Spencer says. He pulls back to run his hand through Brendon's hair. “So can we just agree that from now on, we'll be honest with each other?”

“From now on?” Brendon echoes, searching Spencer's face with his gaze. “Does that mean you forgive me?”

Spencer brushes a kiss over Brendon's lips. Brendon makes a soft sound and presses closer. “I forgive you,” Spencer says. “I'm sort of crazy about you.”

Brendon beams and pulls Spencer in for another, longer kiss. “Can you try to remember that after you've met the rest of my family?”

“Princess—your sister seems nice,” Spencer says.

“It's just _Kara_ , Spence,” Brendon says. “Please don't tell me you're gonna start calling me Prince Edward.”

Spencer considers it for a second and pulls a face. “It really doesn't suit you,” he says. “Good thing you'll never be King Edward, since you're like, fifteenth in line.”

“Ninth, thank you very much,” Brendon says. He's smiling though, so at least it isn't a sore subject.

“Right, well, polish your crown, then,” Spencer says. 

And somehow, it's okay. Because this is still Brendon, who's somehow amazing at every instrument ever and picks up surfing in five minutes, but fails at basic shit like using a microwave and dressing himself. It's Brendon, who'd never kissed anyone before Spencer, who always seemed bewildered by and covetous of Ryan and Spencer's friendship. Brendon who's quirky and charming and dorky by turns, too loud and hyper and painfully sincere.

Brendon who holds Spencer's hand even when it's hot out and they're gross and sweaty, who patiently goes over his notes with Spencer again and again to make sure he'll ace his tests, who gets sad when he talks about home, or when Spencer asks him what he's going to do after college. Suddenly a lot more things make sense, but it doesn't change who Brendon _is_.

“I'm never going to be very important in the grand scheme of things,” Brendon says, suddenly serious, and Spencer strokes down his arms, laces their fingers together. “I've never really felt like a prince. I've never even felt very special.”

“Brendon,” Spencer says. He's worried about the impression he's going to make on Brendon's family since right now he mostly wants to _punch_ them when he meets them, and he's pretty sure they could have him disappeared for that.

“No, look,” Brendon interrupts. “I don't care if it sounds stupid or cheesy, but being with you, just doing what we do, _that_ makes me feel special.”

“That really is incredibly cheesy,” Spencer says, and what he means is _fuck, I'm so in love with you_. 

Brendon bats at his arm. “Fuck off, see if I confess any more deep dark secrets to you,” he says.

Spencer catches his eyes and leans in til they're blurred, foreheads pressed together. When he leans in for the kiss, he means it to be short, but then there's Brendon's _mouth_ and Spencer's sort of distracted. He's lost all concept of time when he finally pulls away, and he can't stop staring at Brendon's mouth, all red and tender looking.

“I want to hear all of them,” Spencer whispers. “I want to know everything.”

Brendon kisses him again, with enough force to send them stumbling until Spencer's back hits the wall. Spencer's thinking about how they're both missing class and someone could walk in at any point in time and he's _making out with Prince Edward of York, what the actual fuck is his life,_ and none of it fucking matters when Brendon presses close, sliding his tongue along Spencer's in this really promising way.

Then Brendon pulls away and Spencer lets out a frustrated moan. “I was so stupid this morning,” Brendon says. His finger is flicking gently back and forth over Spencer's neck, right over his pulse, and the touch feels electric. “I'm going to make it up to you so hard, just as soon as we deal with my sister.”

Put that way, a meeting with Princess Kara doesn't seem nearly as daunting a task as it was before.


End file.
